


Soft Tease

by effing_gravity (Malteaser)



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: M/M, Making Out, Strip Tease, playfulness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-27
Updated: 2019-07-27
Packaged: 2020-07-20 12:30:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19992238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Malteaser/pseuds/effing_gravity
Summary: Aziraphale has an idea to speed things up, and Crowley continues to be gay for the sight of his forearms.Written for a kink meme prompt.





	Soft Tease

It all started because Aziraphale was trying to make sandwiches for a picnic. 

Specifically, he was trying to slice tomatoes. The tomatoes were rather juicy, and after one near-miss with an errant squelch, he’d decided that he’d rather not risk his jacket on this, and so removed it safely to the back of a chair and rolled up his sleeves for good measure. 

He’d sliced, and was slicing still when Crowley entered, and let the bottles of wine he was carrying drop onto the floor with a perilously loud thunk. 

“Crowley!” Aziraphale said, both in greeting and admonishment. “They’ll crack!”

“You’ve got your shirtsleeves rolled up,” Crowley said. He neither blushed nor stammered, but there was something about the way he said it that made Aziraphale think that he was very close to doing both. 

“Yes, I do?”

Crowley leaned against the cabinets. “I don’t think I’ve seen you with your shirtsleeves rolled up since shirtsleeves were invented.”

“I feel like that’s something of a tautology, dear,” Aziraphale replied. 

“Oh, you know what I mean,” Crowley waved his hand around. “Anyway, I got the wine.”

“I noticed,” Aziraphale replied. “Just give me a moment to finish up here.”

He half planned to miracle the rest of the lunch together, but Crowley was already pulling up a stool and settling down opposite him. 

“I’ll wait,” he said, perching with one elbow propped up on the island countertop, his chin on his hand. 

_Oh,_ Aziraphale thought happily, as the sudden force of several decades worth of memories hit him: memories of going out to eat with Crowley, only for Crowley to spend the meal nursing his drink and watching Aziraphale exactly like he was doing now. 

It wasn’t as though this was new information. It hadn’t really been new since that night, the first night of the rest of their lives, newly freed from Heaven, Hell, and the Great Plan itself, when Aziraphale, more than drunk enough to throw both caution and any pretension of artistry to the side, had said “I just want you to know, I find you wildly attractive.”

Crowley, who if anything had been even more drunk, had replied instantly with “Thank Satan. Thank God. Thank Somebody- you! Thank you. Can I kiss you now? It’s been six thousand years since I first found you _wildly attractive_ , and I’d really like to kiss you now, if that’s alright with you.”

It had been, and continued to be, very much all right with Aziraphale.

They were taking it slow, partially because that was- or had been, at least- Aziraphale’s preferred speed. It was also because every time they did something new- or Aziraphale shed a layer, or undid a button more than he’d previously undone- Crowley tended to fixate on it for hours. Which was all very well and good- really very well and extremely good, to be frank- but, well. 

Well.

He’d had the thought, that once Crowley had gotten between his thighs he probably wouldn’t surface for air for a day, at least. It had been an idle thought at first. It was a downright imperative thought now. 

He wanted that. He really, really wanted that, a lot. 

Now, as Crowley watched him with a gaze too besotted to be contained by his sunglasses, he began to plan. 

~*~

The picnic was a roaring success. Crowley let him feed him little bites of sandwich, and Aziraphale polished off the rest; they passed a bottle of wine between one another, and then another; the warm summer’s day melted into a cooler summer night with a magnificent sunset. 

They’d intended to watch the Perseids. They caught the beginning of it, and then they were too caught up in one another to continue. They kissed until the sky began to lighten in anticipation of dawn, and then Crowley said with a yawn “Shall I take you home?”

Thanks to Crowley’s aggressive driving tactics they made it back to the bookshop when it was still early. The sun had risen not too long before, and they were both bathed in gentle golden light as they kissed outside the door to Aziraphale’s shop. 

“Still tired, dear?” Aziraphale asked. 

“Wide awake, actually,” Crowley replied. He looked a picture: mouth red and wet, face flushed, sunglasses askew. He could have fixed those. He flexed his fingers where they grasped onto Aziraphale’s hip and shoulder instead. 

“Good,” Aziraphale said, leaning in to kiss him again. 

Eventually, a passing car honked at them. He rolled his eyes, and Crowley flipped them off, but neither of them exactly moved away from one another until Aziraphale fumbled his keys out and managed, miraculously, to jam them into the lock correctly. The door sprang open, and they moved inside. 

Crowley let Aziraphale steer them- he _trusted_ Aziraphale to lead them, which after all that had been said and done between them left him almost as breathless as his kisses- and they kissed their way through the alleged salesfloor of his shop all the way to the back, past the kitchen where he had been slicing tomatoes just yesterday and into the sitting room. 

“Mphm,” Crowley made a noise Aziraphale managed to parse as mild surprise as Aziraphale pushed him down onto the armchair. He pulled back slightly, to give him room to speak.

“Did you mean to put me here instead of the sofa?” he asked. 

“Yes,” Aziraphale replied. If they went to the sofa, they would just end up kissing for hours, barely removing any clothing, until the urge to sleep overcame Crowley and they ended up taking a nap all curled up on one another until well into the afternoon. They’d done it before, and would hopefully do it again, but right now Aziraphale had _plans_. He cupped Crowley’s face, fingertips brushing against the stem of his glasses. “May I?”

“Sure,” Crowley said, a little breathless. 

Aziraphale carefully pulled his glasses from his face, and placed them gently down on the side table. 

“Lovely,” he murmured, and then kissed him again. And again, just because. “Can you do me a favor, dearest?” he asked. “Can you sit there for a moment?”

“Sure,” Crowley repeated, still breathless.

Aziraphale pulled away, and used a minor miracle to undo the laces of his shoes so he could step out of them. Then he reached for his bowtie. 

“Why angel,” Crowley said, leaning forwards in the seat a little. “Are you putting on a show for me?”

“Indeed I am,” Aziraphale replied. He pulled the end of the bowtie until the knot unraveled, and then pulled it free of his collar with a flick of his wrist. “Now sit back, dear. You’ll know when I’m done.”

Crowley leaned back again, plainly trying to smirk and failing. The expression on his face was at once too tender and too hungry for smirking. He propped one leg over the arm of the chair, and left the other splayed out on the floor. It stretched his trousers so tightly over his thighs that Aziraphale was certain that he would pop a seam- not to mention the way it emphasized the gorgeous Effort Crowley was currently making.

He was, ideally, going to be very well acquainted with said Effort, but- later. 

He shrugged out of his jacket next, letting it catch against his shoulders for a moment before he extracted his arms from its sleeves. He draped it over the chair, and then took his time with his cufflinks. He rolled his sleeves up a little, since Crowley seemed to have enjoyed that earlier, removed his pocket watch, and then got to work on his vest. 

He looked over at Crowley through his eyelashes as he undid the buttons. Crowley was watching his hands avidly, chest rising and falling shakily as though Crowley had forgotten how to breathe convincingly. 

He took off the vest, and placed it with his coat. He removed his belt with a little flourish that made the Adam’s apple of Crowley’s throat bob. He took his time with his shirt, untucking it and smoothing it over his trousers, taking his time with each button. The trousers themselves were simpler, and he was stepping out of them and folding them on the back on the chair in no time at all. 

“I half-expected you to be wearing sock garters,” Crowley said. He was trying to joke, but like the smirking he couldn’t quite manage it. 

“Well, that’s a thought for next time,” Aziraphale said over his shoulder. 

He took off his socks next, since Crowley had reminded him that they were still on. He let his fingers trail up his legs, the thickness of his thighs especially, and linger at the roll of fat where the waistband of his boxers met the hem of his undershirt before pulling the shirt off over his head. 

Crowley inhaled loudly. By the time Aziraphale pulled the shirt free, he’d shifted position slightly, one of his hands clutching at the arm of the chair, and the other digging into the inside of his thigh. It was like it was taking all of his self control not to get up and launch himself at Aziraphale, or touch himself. 

Aziraphale went to him. The worn wood of his floor was warm beneath his feet and Crowley’s lips were cool and soft beneath his own. 

“Aziraphale,” Crowley breathed, like a prayer. 

Aziraphale smiled, cupped his cheek, and then used a minor miracle to pull his boxers out from behind Crowley’s ear.

Crowley blinked at them. 

“Ta-da!” Aziraphale said, beaming. 

“You did not,” Crowley spluttered. “You did not! You did not just do that, you absolute-”

Aziraphale kissed him again, and let the boxers drop onto the floor. He lowered himself into Crowley’s lap, as best he could with the demon’s aversion to sitting correctly in chairs, and kept kissing him until Crowley’s indignant splutters turned to laughter, and his laughter turned to moans.

“I think you’ll find,” Aziraphale said, guiding one of Crowley’s hands between his legs, “That I did.”


End file.
